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Updated: May 19, 2025
But whut we need hain't more lawyers an' sich lak, but more farmahs an' carpentahs an' shoemakahs. An', ez fur land, thar's a track uv 'bout three hundurd acres back thar on Hinkson Crick whut ole man Lucky, I heah, will sell fur one dollah an' two bits a acre lays well, is well watered an' well timbered, an' the sile fairly stinks with richness. All it needs is cl'arin' up.
"How many signers did you git?" inquired Rogers that night when the family were again assembled around the fire. "Forty-three down, four more doubtful, and two more promised conditionally." "Who air the conditionals?" "The Hinkson children." "Whut's Bushrod Hinkson mekin' conditions fur, I'd lak to know?" exclaimed Mrs. Rogers. "I'll bet it's jes' his stinginess.
It was after we had passed Mont Valerien, frowning on the horizon, that the man in the pink cotton shirt began to grow restive under so much instruction. He told the serious person that his name was Hinkson of Iowa, and the serious person was induced to reply that his was Pabbley of Simcoe, Ontario.
"I guess we aren't any of us annexationists," said a middle-aged woman from Toronto in a duster, and proceeded to follow Mr. Pabbley. The rest of the Canadians looked at each other undecidedly for a moment and then slowly filed after the middle-aged woman. There remained the mere wreck of a group clustering round the national emblem on the leg of Mr. Hinkson.
Through the trees at the back there was a glimpse of Hinkson Creek, and across the newly plowed fields to the right and left could be seen the shadowy blue of some distant, low-lying hills. In front, several walnut, oak and elm trees had been left standing to preserve the wild beauty of the place. The first day was spent in preparing materials and laying the foundation logs.
To Polly Hinkson, who was considered highly accomplished in such matters, was accorded the honor of marking the quilt into the pattern previously decided upon, an elaborate and intricate design known as "bird-at-the-window."
Pabbley. As momma said, human nature is perfectly extraordinary. For the rest of the journey to Versailles there was hardly any international conversation. Mr. Hinkson tied his handkerchief round his neck, and the Canadians tried to look as if they had no objection. We passed through the villages of Montretout and Buze.
Hinkson brought down a third and dodged a fourth that sprang at the horse's flanks. Again the wolf jumped and would have crippled horse and rider had not the crack of another gun sounded upon the frosty air. It belonged to Thomas Keats, then on his way home from town meeting. The wolves, frightened by the double-attack and weakened in numbers, slunk away into the woods.
Boone come 'long agin, an' we axed him whar to settle you know, he'd roamed all ovah these parts, an' knowed all the best places. He told us to come out to this redge whut sep'rates the waters o' Hinkson an' Stoner Cricks; an' he named it Cane Redge, fur, ez he said, the biggest cane an' the biggest sugar-trees in Kaintuck growed on it. So we come; an' a rough-an'-tumble life it wuz at fust."
I know for that ole Chicago show! You are the five hundred American who has said that to me this summer! Number five hundred! Nossir, we don't lend those carriage. We don't even drive them ourself." "No more kings and queens nowadays," remarked Mr. Hinkson, "this century's got no use for them." I think the guide was a Monarchist.
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